


ghosting

by clairelutra (exosolarmoon), volpish



Category: Emara: Emirates Hero
Genre: Canon Speculation, Character Study, Gen, currently canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 02:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14864525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exosolarmoon/pseuds/clairelutra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/volpish/pseuds/volpish
Summary: After several weeks of searching, Dhabian finally catches sight of Emara. Sadly, that'sallhe catches.(A character study)





	ghosting

**Author's Note:**

> EMARA EMIRATES HERO IS THE CUTEST GD SHOW I'VE SEEN IN A LONG WHILE please check it out ;v;
> 
> also, as someone who doesn't use prosthetics or a wheelchair, it was pretty interesting to try to put myself in the shoes of someone who'd lost his legs, gotten used to having no legs, then gets new, (seemingly) perfectly functional prosthetic legs—that he only uses *some* of the time.
> 
> like... is that required by the people who made the prosthetics? a catch to the prosthetics themselves? a secret identity thing? just a personal choice? _i wanna know_

_Get close to Emara._

Uh, yeah, sure, it sounded simple _in theory_ , but in reality…

Dhabian finished his third complete loop over the area—she _reportedly_ appeared most commonly around the bottom of this sector, but catching sight of her was like trying to catch sight of one very important raindrop in a heavy storm.

He was running low on juice, too. Flying was cheap, but it wasn’t free. He had to get fuel occasionally, and it looked like that occasion was going to be in about…

He checked.

20 minutes or so.

Enough time to get back with a comfortable amount of wiggle room in case he got waylaid. That was probably his cue, then. It wasn’t like he was going to make any more progress tonight.

He alighted on the corner of the building below him, artificial knees wobbling in a _seriously uncool_ kind of way (learning to walk with these things had been all kinds of face-flattening fun, let Dhabian tell _you_ ), and was just about ready to hop down to the street proper when something ghosted in his peripherals.

From the street? Dhabian looked down, down, down—

The cape was unmistakable.

That was _Emara_ down there, chasing a thief down the gold-lit street, her shoulder pieces glinting just bright enough to give shape to the rest of her silhouette.

Dhabian barely felt his heart lodge itself in his mouth; he was too busy launching himself off the edge and scrambling after her.

He flubbed his landing, the appendages’ in-progress design compounding his lingering ineptitude, but he was fast enough to make up for a lost second or three.

He hoped.

Time seemed to slow down as he charged after the shadow—faint flickers of nerves and excitement dancing around the edges of his consciousness, the sharp, dry smell of asphalt, rough pavement traded for the unnerving free-fall swoop of being upright, black night and velvet sky and bleached-warm walls—he was trying hard not to shove people out of his way but knocking into them ( _fabric and flesh and inertia_ ) was unavoidable as Emara drew nearer and nearer and nearer and—

And then she turned on a dime.

And Dhabian lost her.

By all rights he _shouldn’t_ have lost her—these legs were quite literally built for high-speed chases—but his jets gutted and sputtered at exactly the wrong second and sent Dhabian careening down an entirely separate street.

The _crunch_ of hitting a wall face-first was painfully, _painfully_ familiar.

What he’d thought was a street could barely qualify as such; it was more of a short alleyway, really. It stank of trash, the darkness here murky, and Dhabian was all set to keep chasing her—when his knees abruptly stopped responding.

He stumbled hard, stomach swooping, and heard his gloves scrape against the rough finish.

A hurried check revealed what he’d feared: he was out of juice. The chase must have taken more power than he’d realized.

Panting, he rested against the wall, then, clenching his jaw in disgust, slowly lowered himself to the ground. He wasn’t going anywhere else on these legs tonight.

Which was… fine.

Just fine.

He’d been in worse straights for sure. This was nothing on that time when— but no, he shouldn’t be thinking about that now.

(But what he wouldn’t give for his chair right about now.)

It was with more than a little bit of trepidation that he called up Zeina.

“This is the office speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hey… Zeina, it’s me. I need a pick up.”

The silence on the other end of the line was terrible. He knew she wasn’t judging him—she was by far the most patient of his handlers—but a helpless defense sneaked out of his throat anyway.

“I found her, but she’s quicker than I thought. I… I ran out. I’m dead in water.”

She must’ve sensed the half-panic sitting, fluttering under his breastbone, because all she did was sigh and tell him they’d be there in five.

Dhabian let out a hissing sigh and set his watch. Zeina was nothing if not timely.

 _Well,_ he thought wryly as he watched the seconds count down, _this is progress… right?_

He and Emara would be a super-team one day, he just knew it.


End file.
